Slipping into New Orleans

It was a perfect afternoon. Perfect is not the same in every place. On a perfect day in Montana, its 65 degrees and you can see forever. In New Orleans, on this day, it's 87 degrees and raining. A slow steady rain. All the wrought iron is shiny black. All the 200-year-old buildings look like they were built yesterday. You expect to see ladies in hoop skirts coming down the stairs. And the smell is wonderful. This town fills your senses on any day, but on a day like this it nearly knocks you over. A great day to have the blues.

I have a quiet room on a back street of the Quarter. An old place with no screens on the windows. I have a second floor room with a balcony. I've walked up from the River. I shopped down at the River Walk until I couldn't stand the tourists anymore. Then I walked up to the Quarter. I stopped and bought a Panama hat (buying something a little off center sometimes cheers me up). I had some Murphy's at an Irish pub. It started raining about 2 blocks from the Inn. It was nearly sunset when I got to the Inn. I stood dripping wet at the desk and ask them to send a bucket of ice and a cheese tray up at 9:00.

I went to my room and undressed; and got in the shower. I laughed at myself. I knew I would be sweat through when I got out, before I hit the sheets, but it would be fresh sweat. This blue mood had me cold on the inside, even though I was hot on the surface. I let the lukewarm water run over me and ran soapy hands over my body. I took long firm strokes over my breasts and thighs. I felt a deep, wide warmth grow from the inside. I let it be for now. I had plans for the evening and didn't want to hurry. I hung my wet clothes over the shower curtain. I dried, went out into the room and opened the windows - left the shutters closed - and laid down on the sheets. The cool sheets felt good against my skin. But I was soon sweating into them.

My hand lingered on my thigh, running up and down and enjoying the feel of the silky, sweaty skin. I suddenly had a vivid memory and wet hot skin on my tongue, silky and salty. The yearning in me made me moan from the aching in my groin. I rolled over and hugged a fresh cool pillow to my chest. I felt my hard nipples rub against the sheets and ground my pussy into the bed. I could feel the wetness as I rubbed my thighs together and then ground into the bed again. Then I sighed in frustration and lay quietly. The tingling faded into a soft tug and I fell asleep, biting on my thumb.

There was blues playing in the background, as the woman moved slowly toward me. She was covered in sweat from the effort of the dance. Her breasts swayed beneath the silk slip of a dress she wore. I leaned forward, and from where I sat near the stage, I heard the quick 'snap, snap' as buttons were popped off. But the fabric didn't fall. I heard the 'snap, snap' again.. and looked behind me. It was more of a 'rap, rap'.

"Miss Riley, your ice." I woke up with a frustrated "Yes! Just a minute!" The blues was real, but alas I was alone in my room - no silky form dancing toward me. I slipped on a black, short silk full slip and answered the door. The bellhop sidled efficiently by me and placed the ice bucket on the table by the window. He quick-stepped back to the door without making eye contact. "Is there anything else, Miss Riley?" he said, discreetly holding his hand just out to the side, fishing for a tip.

"Just a minute." I said and turned to get my bag on the floor beside the bed. I leaned over, without bending my knees, and fished through the bag for my wallet. I wondered if he was enjoying the view? As I turned to hand him the bill, I thought I caught his eyes, but he was quick. He thanked me and was gone before the sweat could form on his upper lip. "Wimp." I grumbled as I closed the door.

Oooo - I was in a mood. I better either lock the door or count my drinks or both. I put the ice bucket over on the wet bar. I poured myself a tall glass of bottled water on ice. Drank half of it and refilled. I pulled out the jar of jumbo olives and put 4 of them in a tumbler. Closed the jar, tight and with resolve - as if that would stop me from coming back - and returned them to the refrigerator. I filled another tumbler with ice. I pulled the Sapphire Gin out of the freezer. I opened the vermouth and splashed some on the olives. I then moved my little feast out to the balcony.

I set up a comfortable wicker chair with pillows on the balcony, next to it the little table. On the table were the plate of cheese & other antipasto, Gin, olives, glass of ice, glass of water and one martini glass. Before I sat, I fixed the first martini. "One," I said as I dropped a large olive in the glass, followed by a splash of vermouth and a carefully eyeballed double jigger of gin.

I sat in my chair, still in nothing but my slip. I sipped the first sip and felt the molten gin all the way down. Always on the first one - you knew you were drinking poison. But somehow by the 2nd, it just seemed the right thing to do. I sighed, a sad but satisfied sound and leaned back into my chair. This is the point in the evening when I make my promises. I will not drink too much. I will not leave this room. I will not flash the people on the street. And I will not call strangers and ask them to come to my room. This seemed like a safe list.

Now what WOULD I do? I would listen to the jazz and blues wafting up from the clubs. I would watch the people and wonder at their secrets. I would have 1 or 2 martinis and then crawl under the sheets and play Uno by the light of the moon. This was do-able, this was noble, this was the plan.

Until I finished the first martini.

As my stomach grew warm and my thighs felt too hot to keep closed, I thought I had better eat something. I concentrated on the cheese, fruit and crackers. As I nibbled on them, making each bite a little canapé of my own creation - I threw in the olives for color and tang. I reached to make another drink and was out of olives. I stood to go refill the olive tumbler.

That's when I caught your eye. You had a last minute business trip that had brought you to New Orleans. You knew I traveled here on business, but had no idea I would be here. You have this thing about balconies, so as you wandered through the French Quarter, the least movement above your head would cause your to look up. And wonder at the stories behind the wrought iron and the closed shutters. A slight movement up to your left caught your attention, and you glanced up, expecting to see a cat or a resident watering their petunias. You couldn't believe what you thought you saw. It was dark, but it was a familiar rear in a familiar slip. You thought it was worth a second look.

You quickly located a second floor café and got a seat on the balcony. You were across the street and off to the side. You tried to be nonchalant as you positioned your chair to get a view of the balcony in question. You were soon rewarded with the site of a tall woman in a black slip with a jar of large green olives. Bingo! You could not see my face, but the olives and the martinis they had to go with were a dead giveaway. You sat back and watched.

I mixed the next drink and sipped it slowly as I surveyed the scene around me. The street was filling up with people moving from the restaurants to the clubs along the main drag. There was some activity on the balconies around me. There was that Bar across the street and down some. I always liked to see what was hoppin' over there. As I reached for another olive I carefully glanced over at the café. I was mostly in the shadows, so I figured they wouldn't see me and they wouldn't be interested. As I looked over, someone looked away. As I popped the olive in my mouth, it dawned on me whose profile that was. My memory is often triggered by smells and tastes. And Bingo! I knew who it was. I wondered fleetingly, what you were doing in new Orleans, but then I thought I really didn't care. What a pleasant surprise and what a wonderful chance to give you what you like best.

I looked more carefully at my surroundings. The lighting was perfect. The oblique lighting from the street lamp meant only the top surfaces would be clear. And my face was hidden in the shadows, so he wouldn't see me smiling, and he might not catch me glance his way.

I leaned back in the chair and let my head fall back. I put my hands on my thighs and slowly rubbed the inside of them just below the line of the slip. As I rubbed, my knees slowly moved apart. My nipples cooperated and despite the hot night air, the silk fabric became taut against them. I left one hand on my thigh and pulled a piece of ice out of the tumbler with the other. I started at my neck and moved the ice around then down my cleavage. I ran it over the top of one breast and then the other. My nipples were now painfully erect and I was glad I was wearing something soft.

Then I dropped the ice down my front and it took quite a bit of will power and all the gin in me to keep me from jumping. The cube settled on the hair above my mound. I sat there for a moment and then reached for my martini, to keep my hands busy. As I sipped the drink, the ice melted and the cold trickled through my hair. It was really very nice and I closed my eyes. I thought about the water tickling down and mixing with my own juices, and I shuddered. By the time I finished the drink. The ice had melted and my heat had increased.

I glanced over at the café. He was doing an un-stare...but I seemed to have his undivided attention. I decided to be a little daring. I stood. As I stood I knocked the glass of ice to the floor. Oh, silly me. I would just have to bend over to pick it up. I did.

Meanwhile, back at the café, you are trying to figure out how to get my attention or get to my hotel or both. I might not know you are there - but I was certainly putting on a show for someone. After you tear your eyes away from my rear - actually I had gone into the room for more ice. You quickly survey the other balconies and windows with a line of sight to my balcony. You want to see if I have another intended audience. Knowing me as you do, you can't be sure if I have seen you or if I have another "admirer" that I am taunting. You see no one. Before you can ponder that question, I come back into view.

I sit down and get another ice cube from the refilled tumbler. As if rereading a page to see where I left off, I quickly retrace the path of the previous ice cube, stopping just short of dropping it. I shudder at the thought. I move the ice cube to my thigh. I run it up and down one thigh and then the other. I am starting to think less of taunting you and more of what my hands are doing. I do consider, for a moment which way to turn as I put one leg over the arm of the chair. I turn away from you. Now you see the back of me and the side. You know what I am doing with my hands, but you cannot see the target.

The ice has long melted as one of my hands goes under my slip from the bottom and the other goes under from the top. As I massage my breast and my clit, I've forgotten that I was doing this for you. I am going slowly, moving in languid circles and I hear the music again from the street below. I had almost forgotten about you, when the female vocalist in the club nearest me, starts singing "She's Always a Woman to Me". I always think of you when I hear that song. My hands stop, I close my eyes and my mind wanders to the touch of your hands, your lips....

"..she only reveals what she wants you to see, but she's always a woman to me..."

My head falls back and I slowly open my eyes thinking I will see you looking back. But, I am looking at the café (up side down) and you are not there. Not there? Has some randy male or female run off with what's mine!? I sit up and take a harder look. You are not there. Shit! How long have you been gone? I look down into the street and don't see you there. Maybe you never were there. Damn!

I turn back to my table and drink down my ice water. I put an olive in my mouth and sucked on it as I fixed myself another drink. Hell! What now? No fun, no torture, no tease. And...I hadn't thought about what might come next - after the torture, after the tease. But I thought about it now. And I sulked as I sipped by drink. I was blue before. Now I was just plain depressed. Blue is OK. Blue is a mood, a feeling - something you can build on, be creative with. Depressed is a disease. To be avoided, nobody "sings the depressed". Well, except maybe Tracy Chapman.

I was really getting into my sulk and thinking of another drink, when I felt your hands on my shoulders. I didn't jump - there was that little optimist inside me that knew you would come - and there were the 3 martinis. I just sat there and tried not to let the smile show. You slowly massaged my shoulder and I could feel your hands "smile" as you felt the goose bumps on my flesh and saw my nipples pull at my slip. You slipped both hands under my slip. But I didn't let that go on too long. I had to feel more of you. I stood and we were in each other's arms. I started to speak, but you put your finger to my lips. I started to back you into the room, but you stalled me. I started for the chair, but you put your hand under the hem of my slip and you had my undivided attention. And your hand finds me very wet and very hot.

Just before our knees melted, like the earlier ice cube, we fall back into the big chair. In the shadows of the balcony, I took advantage of our proximity immediately. The excitement of this unplanned encounter had me breathing hard and wanting all of you at once. You seemed to have the same "challenge". I concentrated on your jeans and getting them off you. You concentrated your lips on my neck and getting your hands between my legs. You got the upper hand very quickly. I fell back into the chair breathless as your tender, persistent kisses had me shivering with pleasure. I gave into the drinks and your sweet delicate touch and soon I was swimming in your warm kisses and heavenly touch. I sigh and mewed softly as you worked your magic. Kissing my neck, my eyelids and down to my neck again. Then you were on my breasts, running your tongue around the nipples and sucking gently.

You lingered at my waist and expertly played my pussy so that it was just minutes until my breathing hitched and I came. My loud moans were masked by the music in the street below. When I had almost stopped you kissed me deeply and I sighed into your mouth.

I melted from the chair onto the balcony floor at your knees. I pulled your jeans and shoes off. You opened your shirt. I kissed your knees and ran my hands between your thighs. I was suddenly very hungry for you. I pulled your knees forward and apart so that I could get the best angle. I slowly ran one hand up to your nipples and the other one caressed your balls. I looked into your face as I took your whole length into my mouth. The look in your face nearly had me cumming again. You sighed and I moaned and it mixed with the blues coming up from below. My head moved up and down as my tongue flicked your nub. I am sure anyone looking up from below would only take a second to figure out why "that man is making a funny face, mommy!"

Then as I leaned forward and took you all in, you could hardly stand it longer. I moved a hand down to your ass and slow put a finger in. As I sucked you harder and faster, my finger did a "come hither". You came. I sucked you dry just like you love. I was limp and throbbing as you lifted me on to your lap.

- V